


Daybreak

by Winstonian1



Category: The Beatles
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 19:34:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14339517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winstonian1/pseuds/Winstonian1
Summary: The morning after the first night before.





	Daybreak

DAYBREAK

She didn’t know what woke her. A movement from the other, perhaps, or a noise from the street outside. She lay still and listened. All she could hear was the steady breathing of the man beside her, clearly still sound asleep. He was facing away from her; she remembered that they hadn’t fallen asleep like that, they’d each been wrapped around the other, so close because close wasn’t enough. Somewhere in the night they’d moved, he’d turned away from her and he now lay sprawled with his back to her on his right side, his left arm stretched out in front of him. From the insipid dawn light filtering through the blind above their heads she could make out the mass of dark hair, giving way to the pale smoothness of his bare shoulders and long back.

Pattie lay, and looked. As she looked, her body remembered.

There had only been one other before him. It hadn’t been like this. Although she had never admitted it to anyone, she used to wonder what the fuss was about. Now she knew. 

Her body remembered, and her hand reached out almost involuntarily. Her fingers paused, an inch away from the silken hair. She’d tangled her fingers in it last night, and had then slid her hand round to cup the back of his head and bring him back down to her. Now, her fingers paused, but it took will. She should let him sleep. He needed to rest, he was always so busy. Her fingers paused, and then they touched his hair, lightly, apologetically.

The steady breathing continued. She held her breath, but, no change. 

She too should sleep. She didn’t know what had woken her, she didn’t know what the time was, he needed his sleep and so did she. Her fingers trailed down the dark mop of hair and then moved further and touched his shoulder.

“Hmm.” 

She left her hand where it was, hardly daring to breathe herself, willing him to wake, wanting him to stay asleep, and then he moved, shifting his shoulder under her hand. He rolled slightly towards her. “Hmmm?”

She didn’t know what to say to that, so she stayed silent and still. 

George turned his head towards her, his movement slowed and deadened by sleep. His eyes rested on her for a long moment, and then he smiled, the dim light from outside pooling in the dimple in his cheek. “Hello,” he said, his voice slightly slurred with tiredness. “What’s the time?”

Was it that he was still too shrouded in sleep to speak, or was it that she was still sometimes surprised by his accent, so strong despite having been in London for over a year. She could honestly say that she hadn’t had anything much to do with anyone outside the south, and George’s heavy and throaty intonation and, to her ears, strange vowel sounds were a consistent source of fascination to her. In a shut off recess of her mind she was aware that, had she heard anyone with that accent without also being besotted with them, she would consider it uneducated and undeserving of her attention. In him, however, it was a strange and exotic delight. She was equally aware, in that same shut-off recess, that that response was completely irrational and not one to be voiced to anyone. 

She shook her head slightly. “I don’t know.”

That answer seemed to satisfy him; he closed his eyes, inhaled deeply and then opened his eyes again and rolled over to face her. He smiled again, and reached out and nestled his hand within the crook of her neck. “Are you okay?”

“Yes - why not?”

His thumb traced the line of her jaw; her eyes widened slightly. “You woke me up.”

This was undeniable. Caught in the act. “I…”

“What is the time?” George twisted away from her and reached over to pick up his watch from the bedside table. He held up to the vestigial light creeping through the blind and squinted closely at it. “5.15”. He put the watch back, and then turned back towards her.

She was already there, ready for his embrace, and in one joint movement they were nestled together, snuggled in the bedclothes, limbs entwined. Her cheek pressed against his chest and she felt the rise and fall of his breathing.

“Hmmph! Ach!” He jerked away from her suddenly and he rubbed his hand abruptly against his face.

“What is it?” She was startled, worried; there was something wrong…

“Your hair went up me nose!” He rubbed vigorously at his nose again with the back of his hand, before settling back, holding her even more tightly than before. She chuckled.

“Sorry.” She wriggled closer to him, and winced slightly.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“No, what’s wrong?”

Pattie hesitated for a brief moment, before saying, in a voice barely above a whisper, “I’m just a bit sore.”

George’s voice lost its sleepy slur, as he raised himself on his elbow, forearm cradling her neck, and leaned over her. “Did I hurt you?”  
The thick mop of long hair was endearingly ruffled.

“I…”

“Did I? I didn’t want to hurt you.” His dismay was obviously genuine and she shook her head sharply.

“No, I… Well, I… Well, a bit… But no, you didn’t.”

Long fingers gently combed her hair back from her face. Again she saw that smile dimple on the lean face. “Well,“ he said, sardonically. “I’m glad we’ve cleared that up.”

Pattie laughed, in sheepish surprise. “You didn’t. Really. It’s just… it’s been a while…”

She saw him shake his head, just slightly, and she wasn’t sure why; but he lowered his mouth to hers and she stopped thinking. Her arm crept around his neck and urged him down closer to her. She heard a sound, somewhere between a sigh and a murmur, and then knew it was her who’d made it. The hand which had moments before been caressing her cheek moved downwards, gentle fingertips trailing down her neck and bringing bliss in their wake. And then the hand grasped the bed covers and pulled them down and down and down, ending with a flick as he threw them away from him towards her feet. Only her feet remained covered.

His eyes followed the direction of the covers.

Instinctively, she made to curl up, to hide herself from his gaze; but his hand gently but very firmly gripped her hip and pinned her down to the bed and she couldn’t wriggle away. Involuntarily, childishly, her own hands moved to cover her face, and her eyes shut tight in searing embarrassment. 

She heard laughter in his voice. “I did see you last night, you know.”

“It was dark,” she managed from behind her hands; and then she felt his lips dropping kisses on the backs of the hands and he nuzzled at them until she slowly moved them away from her face and dared to look up at him.

“You should be looked at,” he whispered to her through the growing daylight. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

She gazed up at his face, and he did that lopsided utterly endearing grin that had helped capture her heart back on the film set. She smiled back at him tentatively.

“Come on you.” George rolled back onto his side, drawing her with him. 

Outside the window, the day had broken.


End file.
